


Voicemail(s)

by songofhell



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 01:05:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6494791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofhell/pseuds/songofhell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale isn't answering his phone and Crowley is growing worried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voicemail(s)

It was a good day, Crowley thought as he went about his normal morning routine of inspiring fear in his plants and plotting ways to tempt humanity into sin.[1] He had already come up with one positively evil idea – moving around items in stores so that some of the most popular items would not be in their proper places. People would be told by workers that the item was in stock, but then they’d have to search all over the store to find it! Oh, they would be so frustrated and would take it out on the store workers, and the bad attitude would spread like wildfire!

The demon grinned wickedly as he leaned back in his chair. The only thing that could make this day better was Aziraphale. Though, with the schemes he was currently planning, it may not be best to invite the angel along today. But perhaps tomorrow, and then he would at least have that to look forward to.

His smile now softer, he picked up his phone and dialed Aziraphale’s cell phone, which he had finally persuaded him to get. He sighed when the automated voice instructed him to leave a message after the tone.

“Hey, angel, it’s me. Want to do lunch tomorrow? Give me a call back.”

Well, now that that was done, he may as well get started with his demonly activities for the day. As the day wore on, though, Crowley was becoming increasingly aware that Aziraphale had not yet called him back. Once he had run out of things to move around in stores to distract him – that was to say, finished doing his job, of course – he was beginning to worry slightly. Perhaps he should call him again, just in case. Maybe the first message hadn’t gone through. He knew how unreliable phones could be sometimes – he had had a hand in making some of them, after all.[2]

He dialed Aziraphale’s number again as he drove back to his apartment; irritated when he once again got the voicemail.

“Hey, I was just wondering if you got my message. Lunch tomorrow? Let me know.”

There, that was fine. It wouldn’t do to sound too worried, after all.

Crowley attempted to busy himself around his apartment, but the only thing he seemed to be able to do consistently was check his phone. A couple hours later he felt that enough time had passed to justify calling the angel again. He left another message.

“I was thinking the Ritz. For lunch, I mean. Unless you’re getting tired of it. We can go somewhere else. Just, you know, call me back.”

He paced around his apartment for another couple of hours until the clock struck midnight. Well, it seemed as good of a time as any to go to bed, and that would at least be something to do other than checking his phone. He should probably try one more time, though, just to be sure. He hissed when he got the voicemail again.

“Well, it’s midnight, and I was just about to get some sleep. So… just leave a message saying if you want to do lunch. I can pick you up around noon, if you do. Or whenever works best for you.”

As he crawled into bed, he thought that he should probably teach Aziraphale how to text the next day… if they did end up doing lunch, that was. It was just so odd; Aziraphale had never ignored him like this before. Of course, they were now spending a great deal more time together than they used to. Perhaps he was getting sick of him? Or maybe he had done something wrong?

Crowley had a hard time sleeping that night, as his brain kept recalling all of the interaction he had had with the angel lately, trying to see what he might have done to upset him. When he got up the next morning, he immediately reached for his phone, frowning when he saw that he didn’t have any missed calls.

Well, he should probably tell Aziraphale that he was up, shouldn’t he? He called him again and left another message.

“Morning, angel. Just thought I’d let you know I’m awake, so… whenever you want to call me is good. You know, to let me know about lunch? I’m planning on noon, unless you have any objections. If dinner would work better, that’s fine, too. We don’t even have to do a meal. We could just feed the ducks. Or… or… have a drink? I’m free all day, so – er – anything works…. But if not, that’s okay, of course…. I understand if you’re busy with your shop… or angel – stuff… whatever…. I’d just, er, like a call back. Whenever you get the chance…. Just to let me know the plan, or if there is a plan…. Maybe another time would work better? I’m free tomorrow, too… all week, actually. So, you know, it’s whenever works best for you. I know-”

There was a click that for a second made Crowley hopeful that Aziraphale had picked up, but then he realized that the voicemail had simply cut him off. Well, it wouldn’t do to leave a message unfinished. He sighed as he called back, reaching the voicemail again.

“Sorry, the message timed out. I think you might have a shorter message time limit than most… I can’t have talked for that long…. I should check into that when we see each other…. Anyway, as I was saying, just give me a call to let me know if you would like to do anything today… or even not today, if today is bad. The original plan was lunch at the Ritz at noon, but I’m flexible – really, it comes with being a snake. So just give me a call to let me know what works, or what doesn’t work. Okay? Okay, well, uh, I’ll talk to you soon.”

There wasn’t quite as much life to Crowley’s morning routine as there usually was. He knew that his plants weren’t properly terrified, but he couldn’t seem to be properly angry with them. Instead, he started asking them if they thought Aziraphale was mad at him, but without the healthy dose of fear they needed to cooperate, they studiously ignored him.

When eleven o’clock rolled around, he decided to call Aziraphale one last time, and if that failed, he should probably go ahead and go by the bookshop to make sure the angel was alright. He was pretty well unsurprised when he got the voicemail again.

“I still haven’t heard from you. Is everything okay? I don’t have anything else to do, so I’ll just swing by your shop, if that’s alright…. Let me know if it’s not….”

So an hour later found Crowley pulling up outside Aziraphale’s book shop in his Bentley. He tried to tell himself that he wasn’t worried, that he didn’t _really_ care why Aziraphale hadn’t called him back, or if the angel even wanted to see him ever again.[3] He walked into the old bookshop just a minute before it was due to close for the day.

Aziraphale’s head snapped up, the slight dread on the angel’s face morphing into relief when he saw who it was. “Oh, good, it’s you. You had me worried for a moment there. I’ve already had to sell one book today.”

Crowley blinked in surprise, unsure of what sort of greeting he had been expecting to receive, but it certainly had not been that. “Was it a good one?” he asked distractedly as he walked up to the counter that the angel was standing behind.

“Oh, yes,” he said wretchedly. “But I _have_ already read it, and I suppose he’ll get good use out of it. I do hope he’ll take good care of it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Azirphale glanced at the clock, and a moment later, the sign flipped to ‘Closed’ and all the blinds were shut. He turned his attention back to Crowley. “Did you want something, dear?”

“Er… have you looked at your phone?”

“Oh, yes.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I was going to ask you – there’s a blinking light and the word ‘voicemail’ keeps popping up. I can’t figure out what it means. How does one mail their _voice?”_

Crowley laughed, relief coursing through him. “It _means_ that someone called you and left a message.”

“Oh, I see, that makes sense. So, how do I listen to it?”

“You click on where it says ‘voicemail’ and it’ll play them. Er – but you probably don’t have to…”

But Aziraphale was already bringing the phone to his ear. “Oh dear, I have seven messages.”

Seven? Had he really called that many times?

“Ah, this one’s from you…. Oh, oh I see. I’m sorry, my dear…. Wait, this one’s you, too…. Oh, so is this one…. Yes, the Ritz sounds lovely…. Oh, another one…. Yes, now works just fine…. My dear, are these all from you?” The angel’s frown deepened as his listened to the last few messages, and Crowley looked away, his cheeks rather red. He stared determinedly at a cobweb in the corner of a bookshelf until Aziraphale placed his hand gently on his arm. “I am sorry I caused you worry.”

“I wasn’t worried!” Crowley snapped defensively as his gaze moved to Aziraphale’s shoulder.

There was obvious exasperation in the angel’s sigh. “Of course not. Nevertheless, I apologize.”

“Well… apology accepted,” he snipped as he turned away to walk to the door. “Ready to go, angel?”

Aziraphale smiled fondly at Crowley’s back[4] and stepped up to his side. “Of course.”

Their lunch passed with no further mention of the unfortunate voicemail situation, the subject mercifully avoided until they were back in Aziraphale’s bookshop, on their third bottle of wine. 

“I need to teach you how to work the – the – thing,” Crowley slurred, waving his glass around.

“What thing?” Aziraphale looked puzzled as he took another drink of his wine.

“The phone – voice – thing. And texting.”

“What’s texting?”

“One step at a time!” He waved his finger chastisingly at the angel. “Voicemail first because it’s just rude to not return someone’s calls.”

“Because it worried you.” Aziraphale nodded as he refilled his drink.

“Exact – _no!_ No, no, no, no, it did _not_ worry me!”

“You sounded worried.”

“Well, I wasn’t!” He turned his head away from Aziraphale to glare at the wall.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, my dear. I would have been worried, if things had been, you know, er… reversed.”

Crowley blinked slowly as he turned back to Aziraphale. “Really, angel?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes. Of course.” He reached clumsily across the table – the bottle of wine jumping out of his way to avoid being knocked over – and took Crowley’s hand in his. “You’re very important to me, you know.”

“But – but – but what _kind_ of important?” The demon leaned forward eagerly.

Aziraphale frowned slightly. “What kinds of important are there?”

“There’s – there’s the _official_ importance…”

“Like the government?”

“Exactly! And then there’s those things you rely upon…”

“You have saved my life – er – me from being discorporated before.”

“Yes… but then there’s the casual importance. Just a – just a – not _super_ important, but someone who still means something. Not a reflection on the actual person, maybe just the – the circumstances or time or something.[5] Then – _then_ there’s the deep importance. Someone who – who you can’t imagine your life without. Someone who makes you happier than anyone else, and has a big impact on you every day. More than just…. more than just friendship…” He looked down at the table, where their hands were intertwined, feeling a sudden surge of nervousness.

“I see…” Aziraphale looked thoughtful. “The last one.”

“What?” Crowley’s sunglasses slipped down slightly so that Aziraphale could see his wide, surprised eyes. “You have – you have – you have feelings for me? As in romantically?”

“I don’t expect you to return my feelings. I know you can’t.”

“Oh… right…” Crowley looked down at the table. It was true that demons weren’t supposed to be able to love, but he knew that what he felt for Aziraphale couldn’t be anything else[6] – not that the angel would ever believe him.

“Sometimes I wonder, though. Like today with the voice…things.”

Crowley’s head snapped up hopefully, his sunglasses completely falling off with the motion, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I do.”

“What?”

“I love you.” His eyes were wide and fervent as Aziraphale blinked slowly in surprise.

“I think we need to be sober for this.” He snapped his fingers and Crowley, slightly reluctantly, followed suit.

“Do you really mean in, Crowley?” Aziraphale pressed, his grip on his hand tightening slightly.

“Do you think I would embarrass myself like that if I didn’t mean it?” Crowley demanded without making eye-contact. Now that he was sober, he was suddenly finding this conversation much more difficult to have.

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” Aziraphale smiled softly as he reached up a hand to cup Crowley’s cheek, forcing the demon to meet his eyes. “I do wish you would leave off the sunglasses more often. I quite like your eyes.”

Crowley’s cheeks turned faintly pink. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“But more to the point, I love you too, my dear. I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner.”

Crowley beamed, too overcome with emotion to speak. Aziraphale really _did_ love him. He had always hoped, somewhere deep down, but he had always been sure that there was no way he could be so lucky.

“I am unsure of what to do now,” Aziraphale admitted.

Crowley looked thoughtful. “Another bottle of wine?” he offered.

Aziraphale smiled. “That sounds lovely, my dear.”

* * *

 

[1] This was both harder and easier than it looked. Easier because humanity was always ready to fall into sin, and often didn’t even need the push. Harder for the same reason – humanity fell into sin and caused others to sin all on their own, and there really wasn’t much left for Crowley to do.

[2] In fact, Crowley and Steve Jobs had gotten on quite well. They had founded the company of Apple together; though Crowley had never been credited.

[3] The attempt was not working very well, as all Crowley could think about was what would happen if Aziraphale never wanted to speak to him again. What would he be left with? He would have no one to talk to, to drink with, to – well – to do anything with. He remembered what things had been like before the Arrangement, and going back to that sounded almost as bad as the Apocalypse. Possibly worse.

[4] Had Crowley seen this smile, he would have blushed, stammered some more, and claimed that he hated when Aziraphale looked at him like that.

[5] Crowley had a hunch that this was the kind of importance he was to Aziraphale, but he was hoping he was wrong.

[6] In truth, the belief that demons couldn’t love stemmed from the fact that none ever had. But it was also true that none had spent as much time on Earth as Crowley had, and that had a tendency to rub off on any kind of being.


End file.
